


Reticence In You.

by fearless_seas



Series: We Were Made of Sunshine and Gold [4]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Cooking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 08:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14911856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: A day alone at home doing nothing doesn't sound bad when it is with someone you love.





	Reticence In You.

**Author's Note:**

> Here is day two of Pierre's visit. Enjoy.

          Charles eyes open at seven am. For a short moment a spike of confusion hits him as he blinks his eyes up at the ceiling and unfamiliar weight is holding down his chest. He angles his head to the right and tufts of cinnamon hair tickle up against the base of his chin. Pierre is still sleeping, one arm tossed restfully over his chest and a leg hooked over his. For minutes Charles observes this: the eb and flow of his chest moving up and down with every breath he takes. Almost cautiously he reaches out a hand and brushes the hair off his forehead, curling it up behind the shell of his ear. Maybe he imagines tracing the outline of their lips with his but he doesn't want to wake them so he settles on sweeping the pads of his fingers carefully over the carve of his collarbone and his jaw. Everything, this even, was difficult but in every manner it was worth it. Things do not seem so lonely with a lover laying on your chest. He leads his touch over his neck and across his stomach, taking nearly every inch of him into consideration.

          Charles eventually stops this when Pierre squints his brows and steadily begins to stir about him. He rises carefully out of bed, placing their head back on the pillow as they let out a soft almost satisfied sigh. He throws on a shirt, stuffing it into the waistband of his sweatpants as he pads across the hall and down the stairs to the kitchen. A part of him is praying that Pierre wakes up sooner because the house is far quieter without him. He tries to keep himself occupied until this happens so he starts up some coffee. Seating himself up on the counter he hears the familiar sound of feet on the stairs as he cradles a mug of coffee in between his palms and waits patiently swinging his feet. They stumble into the kitchen drowsily and turn to spot him, rubbing the sleep from their eyes.

          Pierre blinks slowly, running a hand up to flatten the puff of his mane. “How long have you been awake?”, his eyes scope casually about the still kitchen.

          Charles hops off the counter, striding over the pot and pouring more into his cup and some into another glass. He slides it across the counter and Pierre silently thanks him with a nod of his head as he scoops it up into his hands to take a sip with quiet appreciative sounds. “Only about thirty minutes,” Pierre seems pleased with this because he rounds the kitchen and wraps his hands over Charles’s waist from behind, tugging him close to his body. He stands there for a moment, his chin leaning into his head until he shifted to press a kiss into his top of his hair.

          “I should make breakfast for you,” Pierre murmurs unlinking his arms and pulling away towards the refrigerator.

          Charles scofs and crosses his arms over his chest, “Remember last time--”

          He immediately spun around and narrowed their eyes, small and beady. “That was an accident!”, he protested loudly.

          “Pierre, the smoke alarm went off and the firefighters were called.”

          “An accident,” Pierre muttered, wringing his hands and turning back to the fridge to search for food to prepare. “Why, do you not like my cooking?”, he pouted poignantly, pulling tomatoes out and damn near throwing them next to the stove carelessly.

          Charles rocks his head, “Well… now that you mention it…”, Pierre shot him another dirty look and he put up his hands in defence. “I am kidding! I love anything you make,” he was definitely lying about that in regards to food but Pierre’s attention span made him not notice. Maybe that is what made them one to easily forgive, because of how much things change in a moments instance. They know it can eat you up inside. Pierre continues to go about taking things out of shelves, humming to himself until the entire top is filled with a random assortment. Charles sits back up on the counter and watches with the heels of his hands pressing up against the surface.

          At one point in the forty minutes, where Charles sat the entire thing a little tense wondering if something was going to burst into flames again, Pierre let out a holler and straddled his legs, coming between his hips and shoving a spoon into his mouth with a, “Try this!” Charles had to admit that it did taste good. He flashed a thumbs before licking the utensil once again, keeping his eyes locked on theirs.

          Pierre shook his head with a smile, “You are nasty, you know that?”

          Charles winked, letting a smirk move the corner of his mouth up, “Only for you, love.”

          When he was finished, Pierre grabbed his wrist, drawing him off the counter and towards the kitchen table. He placed his hands on his shoulders, pushing him from behind until he slapped down into his seat. A second later he returned with two plates and plopped unceremoniously whatever was in the pan down on his plate. Charles was a little too caught up in how proud they looked, hands on their hips and a wide smile pushing the boundaries of their cheeks (and gravity).

          “It is my speciality,” Pierre grinned, guiding a bit of food from the pan down on his own plate, “Spaghetti!”

          Charles stared at his plate for a moment longer, peering from Pierre back down to the meal again and again. “Spaghetti,” he sounded.

          Pierre nodded, “Spaghetti.”

          “You know that is a… non breakfast food?”

          They stole a seat next to him instead of across the table. That was the type of person they were, always closing the distance. “If you don’t eat it then how would your parents feel knowing you starved on my watch?” Charles groaned at this and rolled his eyes. “Or,” Pierre tipped his chin and put some more onto his plate, licking his fingers as he did this, “I could eat it all myself and get big and fat.”

          Pierre studied him as he took his first bite and took gratitude in the way his eyes lit up in shock. As said before: it was quite good. Not a masterpiece in the least but they had undressed their heart for him so Charles obliged him. He couldn’t help it, that smile was all worth it; it was quite a beautiful thing. It set little ripples over calm water with eyes that have a warm embrace that makes him feel.

          Charles washed the dishes as Pierre cleaned up the kitchen itself. While using the broom he paused for a moment and leaned on the stick, placing his head on the end. “What do you want to do today?”, he asked before returning to sweeping the floor.

          It took a second for Charles to think. He stopped the water and wiped off his hands on a dish towel. He turned around to face him, “Nothing.”

          Pierre stopped and met his eyes, “Nothing?”

          Charles nodded, “Nothing.”

          They smiled in return and mimicked him, “Alright then: nothing.”

          After they were finished Pierre went upstairs to change his clothes and Charles dropped himself unceremoniously on the couch to flip through the tv. When Pierre returned he yawned before coming down next to him and putting an arm over his shoulders.

          “Are you honestly playing FIFA?” he laughed a little and laid back his head into Charles’s lap. He had to lift the controller a bit to rest his arm on his chest.

          “Yes, I am,” Charles stuck his tongue out between his lips, “Do you have a problem with that?”

          “Not unless you let me have a go.” Pierre lifted his head up and pressed a kiss to a spot revealed neck that made Charles curl up a little.

          A short scream escaped him, “Look what you made me do!” He shouted, gesturing to the screen in front of the couch, “Damn you, Pierre.” They only let out a laugh and reached up an arm over their jaw to lead him back down, pecking another kiss to the bottom of his jaw. “If I kiss you will you stop?”

          Pierre pretended to ponder this over for a moment, “I don’t know--” Charles cut him off by slamming his lips into his. They blinked several times over, “Do it again and perhaps I’ll consider it.” Charles had not hesitation to do that again.

          The day went just as that. There was an innocence to it, as though there wasn’t a care in the world for them. They craved each other in a way where each would want to be next to each other and nothing else. In the evening Charles made dinner (because at least he could actually cook) and dug up one of the bottles of wine his parents were keeping in the basement. The candles were Pierre’s touch, they were put into place magically after he’d climbed up the steps. He was arched over the table with a match in his hand. He shook it out it a puff of silver smoke when Charles returned.

          He recessed and approached the table, a little taken back by the darkened atmosphere. “Are you sure fire is a good idea for you?”

          Pierre frowned as Charles placed the bottle in the center of the table. “You are never going to let me forget that, are you?”

          He shook his head, “Not in the slightest.”

          “Are we going to get into trouble?”, Pierre chewed on his inner cheek as he uncorked the wine bottle. “Won’t they notice?”

          “No, not at all,” Charles sat down and rested an elbow on the tabletop. The flame made the azure of Pierre’s eyes weave and glow. They swam like gasoline with fingers like unlit matches and the desire or risk of his touch was tantalizing. They poured a bit (knowing both of them were lightweights) into each wine glass before sliding it across the table towards him. Pierre nearly seemed as an artist about to spit a verse, peering out the window with his hand beneath his chin and dim lighting making his sharp features ignite. Charles cannot help but think, as he stares, that he wishes they were still human to them instead of poetry.

          Pierre deviated his head back at that occasion and their eyes locked with quick beating lashes over flushed cheeks. “Why are you staring?”, he questioned, and the soft edge of his brows bowed closer together at the center of his forehead.

          “Why not?”, Charles said, “Art deserves to be looked at.”

          Pierre chuckled, taking another sip from his glass with a wink. “We are going to ninety and you’ll still be saying shit like that, won’t you?”

          “We already look like we are ninety,” he motioned to the bottle, “Sitting here with a meal and a bottle of wine as if we’re in retirement.” But Charles cannot imagine Pierre growing old, he knows he’d still have the same youthful glow he always had. A certain pure beauty that set all sad souls free.

          “My god,” Pierre smiled, “You’re a poet!”

 _And you, my muse_.

          He leaned across the table and kissed him again then a there (it wasn't too much, was it?). A sweet mixture of bitter and sweet mingled with a scent of early spring. Pierre rose up out of his seat to follow a hand along his neck, tracing the carve of his jaw with his fingertips and Charles shivered underneath the touch. Lips threading and threading again and he found his hands leading to the back of their hair. Dinner was left on the table as they came to the living room, laying on the couch at it continued. Pierre sitting him on his lap and Charles curling up his legs behind his back as he bends into him. A low moan escaped his lips as fingers caressed up beneath his shirt at his abdomen and he tossed his head back as their mouth grazed over from his neck to chest.

          “Pierre,” he breathed, cut off with a sharp exhale of breath, “I never said thank you.”

          “Thank you?”, he mumbled, continuing to press his mouth against his skin, “What for?”

          Charles stopped him then, reached up his hands, cupping either side of his jaw and pulled his face to towards his. Noses brushed and he placed their foreheads together. “For everything,” was all he had to say. Their eyes carried some sort of untold silence, one that quite possibly was misunderstood. Little reminds of what it felt like to be alive. He loves this: that smile and the glisten in their eye, the shimmer and shine as they stare into his.

          “Always.”

          Pierre grabbed his hips and placed him back on the couch, getting up and blowing out the candles in the kitchen. He returned, laying flat and placing Charles’s head onto his chest and the arch of his neck. It stayed like that: holding him there until the city lights shifted over the sheath of his back and slices of color mimicked the ladders of his spine. It shouldn't be any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual you can contact me on Tumblr @pieregasly 
> 
> I enjoyed comments a lot (support your younger writers!) so I hope I actually get some, haha. Thanks for reading if you did :)


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